Welcome to the Wards
by Remmak
Summary: A series of short stories revolving around a virtual reality arcade in the Wards...and its unusual quarian resident. Part three of second story up! ME1
1. Vertigo: Virtual Lounge, Part One

**Vertigo: Virtual Lounge**

**Part One**

"The first thing you need to remember about the Wards is this: No one here is your friend."

"Aww. C'mon, Antius," Devan drawled, "You make this place sound like some sort of deathtrap."

"That's because for people like us, _it is_," the turian replied.

Devan shook his head with a grin and continued walking silently alongside his partner through the throngs of aliens that crowded the dingy walkways of the lower wards.

He knew the "us" his friend referred to meant officers from Citadel Security, and more specifically, the ones from the enforcement division. It was they who made the day to day patrols, monitored activities for suspicious behavior, and often ran into potential problems on short notice. Enforcers weren't sent headlong into dangerous situations like the investigation and special response teams, but the added danger and unpredictability of chance encounters made their job every bit as deadly.

Devan, a human, had just completed his six month training period in the relatively safe environment of the Presidium and would soon be assigned to a new patrol route in one of the seedier parts of the Citadel. His equally new partner, a stout, dull-colored turian with white tribal tattoos lacquered over his face, was giving him the "grand tour", complete with the patronizing advice older officers tended to shove onto rookies. Despite this, the human was more excited than cautious, and it was clear that his enthusiasm perturbed the jaded veteran he accompanied.

Antius had been patrolling the Wards for nearly a decade, and as such, he knew all the hot zones and trouble makers therein. Unlike his partner, he'd seen too many people get shot, stabbed, or simply up and disappear to believe anywhere in the Wards was "safe". Not anymore, at any rate. He took his job and the responsibilities it entailed very seriously, and he was going to make sure his subordinate officer did the same.

As the pair continued along, a black and green sign appeared on the left side of the crowded thoroughfare. Foot-high fluorescent letters mounted in a vertical frame spelled out a single word: "Vertigo". Beneath it, a subtext in a smaller font added the vague words "virtual lounge", but the turian knew well enough what was harbored behind the business's double air-lock doors, as well as who he could expect to see sitting outside of it.

Vertigo was an arcade; a virtual reality parlor that offered some of the most realistic simulations in the galaxy. Such places were generally regarded as a safer escape than the many recreational drugs that changed hands in alleyways all across the massive spaceport, but it had it's own brand of danger, and for some, it was no less addictive than a high-priced stimulant.

Antius himself had been called in to remove VR junkies from the place on several occasions, each incident a bit more bizarre than the last. It was appalling to him that people could value themselves and the world around them so little that they would willingly give themselves up to a fantasy and become a slave to a machine. The glassy look in their over-stressed eyes disturbed him on a deeper level than he cared to admit, and he found the arcade's owner no less creepy.

While C-Sec technically considered him an ally for his role as an informant to the investigation division, Antius still didn't trust the diminutive quarian he saw seated calmly on a raised platform near the entrance to his popular establishment. The turian gestured towards the quarian and whispered in a conspiratory tone to the rookie in tow beside him.

"Here's one you have to watch out for," Antius advised, "Vahe, the proprietor of Vertigo. He likes to play dumb when he can, but don't let him fool you. He's one of our informants, and his influence is considerable in certain circles."

"Hah! That guy?" Devan laughed in disbelief and amusement at the idea, "Are you for real?"

He stared straight ahead at the quarian as the two of them strode forward, eagerly taking in the details of the seemingly innocuous individual.

Even when sitting, it was obvious that Vahe was slight in both height and build. He sat cross-legged, calmly watching the passersby as an old man on his porch might back on Earth. A shaded visor screened his face as with all his people, but the hinge on the ventilation screen across his mouth stood open, allowing the quarian to pass a water pipe through to his lips.

Devan didn't know much about the quarian race outside of their nomadic tendencies and propensity for advanced technologies, but he did know enough to understand that finding a quarian making his home outside the flotilla was highly unusual. When he and his partner were close enough, Antius called to the outsider.

"Those things will kill you, you know," he chided roughly.

The quarian's hooded head turned towards them slowly, almost mechanically. Though not a sound escaped his lips and no light pierced the dark veil of his mask, Devan got the distinct, uneasy feeling that the quarian was laughing at them.

"We've all got to die someday, officer," Vahe replied in a voice made memorable by it's lilting, lyrical quality. He spoke crisply, with an edge of intelligence.

"So, why the hazard suit if you're so ready for the grave?" Antius fired back caustically.

"Maybe I respect my people's traditions, maybe the lights hurt my eyes," the quarian offered sardonically, "Or maybe, I just wear it to piss you off…"

The turian glared at the pint-sized offender but said nothing while the quarian took a drag off his pipe. He held his breath for a few moments, completely still, as if contemplating a deep thought.

"Who is your friend?" Vahe asked at last, blowing out pale blue smoke that smelled of jasmine.

"Devan Macalister," the human piped up, offering his hand to the odd little man. Antius put a defensive arm up to stop him, and Devan pouted.

"He's part of the reinforcements being added to the patrol here," the turian informed Vahe with a warning tone, "C-Sec is increasing rounds to make sure everyone stays in line."

"Noble goal," Vahe quipped with indifference, tilting his head up slightly so that the neon lighting above reflected off the surface of his polished visor. Antius fumed inwardly at the petty jibe as another halo of smoke danced around the quarian's head.

"That wouldn't be anything illegal would it?" Antius pressed.

Vahe's head snapped back to ridicule the turian with a sharp laugh.

"Out here? In the middle of the street? What a foolish notion…"

The quarian continued his low chuckle and turned to Devan.

"Your partner is given to extravagant thoughts, Mr. Macalister. Be careful you do nothing to encourage these humors, or you may pay for it with your life."

"I'm a good cop! I do my job!" Antius barked angrily.

"It was not my intention to suggest otherwise, officer. I'm only helping to keep your good partner informed."

Devan ignored the juvenile argument around him. He was more concerned by his curiosity about the quarian than his partner's wounded pride.

"Isn't it odd for a quarian to make his home on the Citadel?" he asked.

"It is sometimes necessary," Vahe replied, "Quarians must trade for supplies to maintain the ships of the migrant fleet, and that requires them to leave that they might search for a seller. I give shelter to quarian traders here on the Citadel, until they have acquired whatever it is they need. I also act as a…guide of sorts, for my people's pilgrims."

"Are there any here with you now?"

"No. I have not had a guest in over a month."

"Which means you must be up to something," Antius interjected.

"Or that the titanium alloys my people prefer are currently at a premium," Vahe spat back.

"What is this place, exactly?" Devan inquired, despite the silencing glare from his turian partner.

"I'm glad you asked. My establishment is a state of the art virtual reality hub. It is comprised of three separate server networks, each with it's own master terminal built to render simulations in real-time using sensory imprints and a complex web of variable options that are subconsciously controlled by the user by way of dream algorithms. Vertigo is a portal to more worlds and possibilities than you could count on a supercomputer. It is the modern utopia."

"It's an addictive indulgence that turns people into zombies is what it is," the turian complained.

Vahe sniffed at the comment, and Devan just stood open-mouthed in awe of the quarian's speech.

"There are dangers," the quarian admitted, "And there are mandatory waivers to participate in virtual recreation. A law that I abide by, _officer_."

"What kind of dangers?" Devan asked, his interest officially piqued.

"The common problems associated with too much stimuli: Heart attack, respiratory arrest…but only in predisposed individuals who lie on their waivers about pre-existing conditions. They take their life in their hands and I have little pity. Then there are the occasional addicts, who simply dehydrate or pass out due to fatigue and too much time in front of a computer screen. However, when held in check by simple common sense, it is perfectly safe, and that is why virtual lounges are allowed to continue operating."

"I should also like to note that each of my hundred user terminals is outfitted with equipment that monitors vital signs and that there is a two-hour lock limit for most patrons."

"_Most _patrons?" Antius cut in.

"The time limit can be extended for an additional fee, however, I only allow this for experienced users with a clean record. Junkies and thugs are blacklisted. I run a clean operation here, officer, and just because you turians snub everything that isn't some form of work or perceived self-improvement, you don't have the right to harass me as you do."

"He's right," Devan said to his partner.

"Shut up," Antius bristled, "A C-Sec officer has the right to do almost anything if there's just cause, including making sweeps of local businesses."

"If that's all you want, by all means, step right in, gentlemen," the quarian invited, waving towards the door with his pipe, trailing a thin, hazy line of smoke, "As long as you promise not to disturb my patrons, I have no problem letting you wander as you wish like lost children."

"I'll go!" the rookie exclaimed excitedly.

"No, _we_ won't," Antius declined.

The quarian shrugged carelessly, then doused his pipe and slipped his lithe sylvan form off of the pedestal he'd been sitting on. Once upright, he was barely over five feet tall, but Antius knew from experience that quarians' looks were deceiving. They were masters of technology, and their most common mode of combat was to cripple attackers by disabling their kinetic shields and overheating their weapons with well placed mines. Once that was accomplished, their enemy was a sitting duck.

It was one thing the turian respected about the quarians; they made up for their lack of physical strength with superior reflexes, speed, and clever tactics. During the Geth uprising, the quarians had been all but wiped out, and the remaining survivors traveled space like gypsies. Their difficult lives of seclusion aboard an ever-roaming fleet of substandard ships had rendered them tough and willful.

"Stay or go, but don't lurk in my doorway," Vahe said before turning on his heel and passing through the airlock doors into the lounge's entryway, "You'll scare away my customers."

Devan craned his neck to catch a glimpse of the inside of the arcade, and he saw it was lit with the same green track lighting used in the sign outside. He also saw a huge nine-panel array of monitors mounted on the far wall above a reception desk, all of them channeled to various commercial stations broadcasted throughout the Citadel's airspace. Pulsing music with a foreign yet irresistible rhythm drifted into his ears, making his heart beat in time with the vibrations of the low base notes. It reverberated in his ears, and made his mind drift. The world around him swayed for a moment, and the citizens swarming all around him suddenly made him dizzy. He managed to steady himself when Antius placed a heavy, taloned hand on his shoulder.

"Snap out of it," the turian ordered.

The human blinked and bent for a moment to rest his hands on his knees, looking at the floor as the doors to Vertigo closed, muting the strange music once more. He took a few minutes to catch his breath, and let his heart stop racing before he righted himself.

"I told you we shouldn't go in there," Antius chastised him, "That stuff isn't natural. Living in a shadow of reality too long messes with your head…It warps people. I wish the Council would reconsider and pass a bill to shut these places down."

Devan nodded absently, but his partner's words were lost on him. His mind had heard the siren's call and he was focused on only one thing: learning more about the paradise known only as Vertigo.


	2. Vertigo: Virtual Lounge, Part Two

**Vertigo: Virtual Lounge**

**Part Two**

Devan walked silently through the rest of the day's circuit; he was busy daydreaming while Antius ran his mouth about every thing wrong with the Wards. The turian spouted what seemed like an endless tirade on bad lighting, dirty streets, and the noise from the monorail transits that zipped along in their narrow tracks. He also told stories on the history of the neighborhood, and tales of his own career in it, but the disinterested human merely fumbled along with a distant expression on his face.

Their route took them through a portion of the lower wards that extended out onto one of the Citadel's five arms. On this underground level, there were few windows opening up to the endless black outside. Most of them were found in the rapid transit terminals, placed behind the tracks on the opposite side of the boarding platform, so passengers could glimpse a view of the glittering starships as they traveled along. Briefly, Devan fantasized about flying right out the window and tracing across the stars at will.

"What has gotten into you?" Antius's harsh voice broke through his reverie, "You nearly walked right into that hanar!"

The human's head jerked up, and sure enough, the long tentacle-like appendages of a hanar were dangling in the air only a foot in front of him. Antius's hands on his shoulders had been the only thing keeping him from get caught up in the long limbs. Luckily, the hanar seemed oblivious to their presence, and the turian swiftly guided them both out of the street to a small alcove near a vendor hawking rare fruits from Thessia.

"Get it together," the veteran scolded him, "You can't afford to let your guard down in this place. _They_ can't."

The turian gestured towards the masses of people that flowed through the streets like a torrential river. Turian society encouraged behavior that considered the needs of the whole, and Antius was a perfect example of this upbringing. Devan sighed and glanced away a moment, his eyes meeting with an asari child sitting with her mother on a bench nearby. She peered back at him with wide round eyes and a gaping mouth stained with juice from the half-eaten fruit in her hands.

"You're right. I know," Devan muttered in reply to his partner, "I'm sorry. I promise it won't happen again."

"Good. The people here count on us," Antius replied with conviction, "Promise me you won't go back to Vertigo, too."

The human's head jerked in surprise.

"But Antius-"

"Promise me!" the turian exclaimed with such feeling that his partner took a step back.

"Okay, okay," Devan muttered, "I promise."

He had no intention to keep that promise, but the turian didn't know that. Antius seemed satisfied with his word and nodded before gesturing them back onto the street.

The rest of the day went by without incident, and they returned to headquarters in the same good spirits as when they had left. Each of them secured their equipment and clocked out on one of the station's terminals. Antius bid farewell to his partner before bounding off to the practice range, and Devan brought up his bank account on the public console. The numbers listed there pleased him. He wasn't sure of the rates charged at places like Vertigo, but he had plenty in his pocket.

He left the station quietly and headed towards the corner of the Wards that the arcade called home. With every step, an undeniable sense of excitement grew within him. He had arrived on the spaceport nearly a year ago, and he thought he'd tried almost everything the Citadel had to offer, from foreign liquors to foreign women, but he'd never tried simulation before in his life. The strange quarian's description of Vertigo sounded almost too good to be true, yet both Antius's hesitation and Vahe's precise explanation suggested that it was very real indeed. Devan was nearly giddy with anticipation, until a small rain cloud threatened to ruin his good mood. He was breaking his promise to Antius.

Normally, a little white lie wouldn't cause the human much concern, but the degree of fervor in the turian's voice when he'd made Devan give his word had been rather alarming. Vertigo and places like it clearly troubled his partner in a big way, but what harm could there really be? He'd had his physical just last week in preparation for reassignment, and he was in perfect health. Surely a little software-induced adrenaline rush couldn't hurt him.

Using that excuse, Devan banished the dark thoughts to the deepest recesses of his mind, and happily picked up the pace. He was worried that Vahe would still be inside when he arrived, but to his luck, the elfin alien stood in the street with a pair of volus, and the snatches of dialog he could hear over the bustle around him revealed they were meeting over a money matter. The human stalled in the walkway a few feet short of them, waiting for them to finish their transaction. After a couple minutes, the trio seemed to come to an agreement, and a teal colored omni-tool interface appeared on Vahe's left forearm. The quarian flicked his nimble fingers across it a few times, nodding in satisfaction. The interface disappeared and he stooped slightly to shake hands with both of the volus. As they turned and walked away, Devan approached the alien.

"Excuse me, Vahe?" the human called to him.

The quarian faced him slowly and then dipped his head slightly in recognition

"Welcome back, Mr. Macalister," he replied as though he'd anticipated the human's return.

"I'm glad you're still open," Devan said eagerly, "I want to try one of your simulations."

The quarian nodded, his facade hidden by his shadowy mask.

"This is the Wards, we are always open, but I am afraid there are no vacancies at the moment."

The human's face fell. He'd waited all day to get back to this place and find out exactly what went on inside only to be foiled by maxed capacity. A dark irony in him thought it served him right for breaking his promise. Vahe picked up easily on the change in his mood.

"In your case, though, I would be more than happy to show you around and answer your questions. I can also reserve a timeslot that fits your schedule, if you like."

"Really?! Yeah, I'd like that!"

"Very well. Come with me."

Devan felt a drop of sweat roll down the back of his neck as he followed the quarian up a slight incline to Vertigo's entrance. As they got closer, he could hear the familiar music vibrate the air around them, humming like a massive machine. When the pair drew close enough, the motion sensor picked them up and the doors whipped open. The air from the thoroughfare was sucked into the portal slightly, as if it were a yawning chasm that delved indefinitely into a black abyss below. It's movement ruffled Devan's hair, and chilled his perspiration.

"Need to adjust the pressure," Vahe noted to himself as he passed through the doors. The quarian walked over to a wall panel and tapped a few keys.

With some trepidation, the human took a few steps into the arcade's interior. It was dimly lit with loud music as before, but now he could see a few patrons lounging around in the common room, as well as three hallways branching outward. The air was thick with sound and static, and Devan's nose could pick up faint traces of disinfectant. All the wall displays he'd seen earlier were now synched to a single video, showing scenes of some exotic planet he'd never seen before. A shallow ocean sprawled as far as the eye could see, dotted with jutting cliff faces rooted in clean white sand.

"Virmire," his quarian host explained, "One of many places you can travel to from Vertigo's terminals."

"Where else can you go?"

"Anywhere."

Devan doubted such a claim, but Vahe stood calmly watching him, not a trace of boast about the man. The alien gestured for him to follow, and they made their way down the hallway on the left. As they walked along, they passed several identical doors with glowing interfaces mounted outside.

"This place is pretty big, huh?" Devan asked him. From the small shop front outside, he hadn't expected such a spacious and well-appointed interior, not to mention the cleanliness. Then again, he thought, being a quarian, Vahe would have a much more exacting standard than most.

"It is a dual level complex. The top floor houses the reception foyer and user terminals. Each hallway represents one of the three networks, with thirty public terminals each. The remaining ten are housed separately for multi-user cooperative simulations and require special access. Beneath us lie the equipment room and central hub. My living quarters are there also."

"Do you ever miss the flotilla?"

"Sometimes," Vahe replied vaguely, stopping in his tracks to turn and eye the human from under his blue-green visor, "But I was under the impression you were here because you were interested in the simulations, not myself."

Devan nodded sheepishly, but he didn't feel any anger coming off the quarian; only a mild, somewhat amused observation. Without another word, Vahe pressed a button lodged on the wall outside one of the doors on their right, and a panel slid upward to reveal a plexi-glass window. The human walked up to it and peered inside the room on the other side.

A sleek, brushed-metal platform jutted out from a large computer tower, raised a foot or so off the smooth floor. It had a circular shape, with a radius of about five feet, and a sturdy railing along it's perimeter. In the center stood a reclined chair, and in the chair sat a human, barely recognizable with all the gear he wore. A visor similar to Vahe's obscured his face, and a set of long gloves covered him arms. Tiny wires that ended in small sensor nodes dotted a vest across his chest, and wound their way into a control panel at the front of the machine. The computer tower had several display screens, one of which blipped in a regular interval, sending a spike in the graph chart that scrolled across it. A heart monitor.

"As you can see, perfectly safe," Vahe said, echoing the human's thoughts.

"How does it work?" Devan asked his host.

"The nodes on the vest and other equipment pick up sensory information and nerve impulses from the user. Based upon the biofeedback that the nodes supply to the computer, the dream algorithms formulate imagined stimulus that will result in the desired response. Your body is dry, but if you were to visit Virmire and touch the water, the computer must send messages to suggest that you are wet, cold. If it does not, the simulation becomes flawed as an obvious fake. You cannot believe in water that is not wet."

"That's amazing. How can something like that be pulled off so easily?"

"Only the concept is easy. The software and hardware configurations to make it possible are what makes things difficult. It took me many years to collect the sensory impressions needed to for a simulation library, as well as to write the dream algorithms that allow user experiences to flow seamlessly."

"It's very impressive," Devan complimented, "I can't wait to try it out."

"Have you considered what sort of simulation you would like to try?"

The quarian's question threw him off and he stood dumbfounded for a moment. He actually hadn't thought about it all. Now that he started mulling over all the endless possibilities, he felt overwhelmed.

"Perhaps you would like to see some of them at work first?" Vahe offered.

"You can do that?"

"Yes. All user experiences are relayed to a viewing room to be monitored, both for quality assurance and as a safety precaution."

Devan felt a chill run up his spine. The quarian's explanation made sense to him, but it also seemed like a violation of people's privacy. He wasn't sure he liked the idea that someone might be looking in on his wildest dreams.

"Are customers okay with that?" he asked.

"It's in the waiver," Vahe replied coolly.

The human hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. He was definitely interested, but he couldn't shake the unnerving feeling caused by the idea of breaching the sanctity of someone else's thoughts. With an eerie feeling, he recalled that Vahe was an informant for C-Sec, and dark ideas of how the quarian got his info began to cloud the human's conscience.

Even as he thought this, the insidious music ran through his blood and urged him onward. A compulsion to continue hovered around him like a living phantom.

"Alright," he said at last, "Let's do it."


	3. Vertigo: Virtual Lounge, Part Three

**Vertigo: Virtual Lounge**

**Part Three**

"So Vahe," Devan began as the quarian led him down yet another hall in the sizable compound, "I know I've asked you a lot of questions already, but I can't help but wonder why you choose to work for C-sec instead of the Shadowbroker…"

"Heh," the quarian laughed, "It's very simple, Mr. Macalister. I do not trust the Shadowbroker; their motives and agents are not known to me. While your friend the turian is quite a pest, C-Sec serves the interests of the Citadel, and therefore, my interests. My relationship with your organization is the more stable and beneficial partnership. I dislike secrets and subterfuge."

"About Antius, why does give you such a hard time anyway? I know he doesn't like VR, but your spat earlier seemed a bit more personal."

The quarian shrugged a bit as they neared a sliding door inlaid with glowing green wires and a few small portal windows arranged in a simple geometric design.

"Perhaps he feels about me as I feel about the Shadowbroker," Vahe replied, "As a quarian, I am unusual and unknowable to the people here, your friend included. Normally, the only quarians outside the flotilla are criminals who have been exiled for being nothing but deadweight to the populace. I imagine he may suspect I am one such person."

"You think he's afraid of you?"

"Not afraid, perhaps, but alert…_cautious_. I do not begrudge him his wariness; it likely does much to keep himself and others safe."

"Funny you should say that," the human mused as he recalled Antius' warning, "He told me I should never come here."

"Hmph. Caution is one thing, turian pig-headedness is quite another. Of all the dangers on this Citadel, why should an ailing quarian and his hobby be counted among them?"

Devan's head perked up at the quarian's words. Ailing? Is that what his odd host had said? Before he got a chance to ask, Vahe activated the door which opened into a large room lined with monitor panels and furiously flickering lights. A wave of heat rolled out and Devan nearly took a step back. As Vahe sidled gracefully into the viewing room, the human took a few moments to survey his new surroundings.

If Vertigo had a heart, surely this room would be it. The chamber vibrated with energy that seem to ebb and flow; coursing through thick cables instead of fine arteries. Exactly one hundred monitors streamed high-definition digital video, and the rooms central mainframe reported all systems functioning at top performance. The warm air wrapped around Devan like water, reaching into every crevice of his clothes and making his eyelids droop sleepily. He could no longer hear the thumping, feverish music from the lounge; only the white noise conversations of more electronic entities than his simple mind could distinguish.

Vahe crossed the room with a brisk gait and took a seat in the rooms lone, high-backed chair. Devan walked to the quarian's side slowly, gaping at the thousands of images and dozens of scenarios flashing across the screens around him.

"This is unreal," the human breathed. He stopped in the center of the room and rotated on his feet, trying to take in as much as he could without getting a dizzy Vahe swiveled away from the complicated mainframe controls to look at him.

"This is the viewing room," he replied matter-of-factly, "The individual user terminals relay input to their respective servers, where the information is translated into visuals before finally being sent here for review. I spend most of my time here."

That much was obvious, Devan thought. A glance up at Vahe revealed the quarian was completely at ease; adjusting a knob here, pressing a key or other button there. He was completely absorbed in the tiny adjustments to his grand creation. Light glinted off his opaque faceplate as he checked and rechecked the vitals on his user reports. Nothing about the man's behavior suggested any of the negligence or risky activity that Antius had implied. In fact, the exact opposite seemed true. The quarian was obsessive about his standards and maintained them with a dedicated vigilance from the chair in which he currently sat. Devan felt oddly humbled to see someone pour so much effort into a single endeavor. He'd never committed much time to anything in his entire life, so it struck him that Vahe sacrificed his life to keep the place running.

"How long have you been working on this place, Vahe?"

"Since before I came to the Citadel," the quarian replied distractedly, "It was…originally intended to give young pilgrims some glimpse of the outside world so they could be better prepared to face the conditions they would encounter there. That is why many of my simulations are nothing more than elaborate representations of planets and places. I gathered sense impressions from quarians who had already made their voyages, but it soon became apparent I would have to venture out myself to gather sufficient data, as well as the materials necessary to put it all together. Salvaging was not sufficient to my needs."

"So you came here?" Devan asked him, drawing closer to the quarian's computer station. Vahe stilled a moment, but didn't move his face away from the large screen in front of him. For the hundredth time that night, Devan wished he could catch a glimpse of what rested behind the man's mask. Trying to read his emotions through the thick glass was like trying to converse with a looping AI; an irritating and hopeless pursuit.

"Not at first," Vahe replied at last. His voice was quiet, and had lost the clipping quality of his accent. Devan thought he sounded almost mournful. "I did a lot of traveling aboard a small twelve man shuttle before events forced me to settle here."

Devan thought he knew.

"You got sick didn't you?" he asked softly, "That's why you're on the Citadel isn't it? You can't go back and spread it to others in the flotilla. It's why you risk breathing our air…"

Vahe nodded, once again without facing him.

"I'm infected with a disease for which there is no cure among quarians," Vahe explained, "When I first became ill, I knew it would be impossible for me to continue traveling. I would have to settle somewhere, so I came to the Citadel. I decided that if I cannot go out to the people and places, I will let them come to me. All things come and go from the Citadel; it is the nexus of life in this galaxy."

"You can't go home…" Devan breathed, "That must be horrible for you."

Vahe tilted his head to the side and gave a light laugh.

"I try to think of it as a mixed blessing," the quarian said, "Had I not gotten ill, I may have never stopped long enough to actually compile the machinery and software you have seen here today. My nomad's heart would have me roam until the edge of space, with an unfulfilled dream. It is true these four walls crush me on the bad days, but to see the people who come here everyday to enjoy my work is as uplifting as a sunrise. Vertigo is my art and last act in this world. I have come to accept that it will never be perfect, but perhaps I still have time enough for it to be complete."

The human stood before the quarian as dumbfounded as when he'd first glimpsed inside the arcade from the street outside. He could only imagine the amount of will that allowed Vahe to accept his fate with such content resignation.

"How long will you live?" Devan asked.

"That is uncertain," Vahe replied, recovering some of his distant, factual tone, "The treatment I currently use is proving effective in treating the symptoms, but the building toxicity will kill me eventually. My organs will shut down systemically, and it's only a matter of time until the rest of me collapses. Should I live the three years necessary to bring Vertigo to a state of finish, I will be satisfied with my lot. From there, it makes no difference to me. I will die happy, if alone."

"But then what will happen to Vertigo?" Devan asked.

Vahe stiffened suddenly, as if it was a notion he hadn't considered yet. The human tensed and wished he hadn't said anything.

"I still need to address that," Vahe replied, "Perhaps a young pilgrim could be convinced to take up my post. A place of safety for quarians upon the Citadel will still be necessary in the future if we are to survive. Natives are not so hospitable."

Devan agreed. Quarians were an uncommon sight on the space station, and treated poorly under most circumstances. Vahe was lucky to have built an establishment that made him valuable to the volus and entertaining to the public; not to mention his ties with C-Sec.

"But this is not why you have come," the quarian said dismissing the discussion, "You came to see the simulations, and there they are."

It was obvious to Devan that the quarian would speak no more about himself, so he followed his host's gesturing to the monitor panels. He found the ten multi-user screens linked together along the right wall. As he watched, he discovered they were playing some sort of war-game; a virtual tag with laser weapons while avoiding traps and geographical obstacles. It was interesting to pick out players from one another's perspectives; as soon as one screen would creep in on an unsuspecting player, one of the other screens would fade to black and scroll a message about waiting in the user queue for the current round to finish and another to begin. It looked like a fun game, but Devan had no one to play it with. He certainly couldn't convince Antius to step foot inside the place, and the turian would probably slaughter him anyway, so he passed them by for the other monitors.

Once he'd strolled down a few rows, he saw a user in a world that stood apart from the other environments. It was amazing, and Devan knew instantly what sort of sim he'd like to try.

"I want to visit this place," he said pointing to the screen while turning to look at Vahe. The quarian gave a slow nod.

"This one is my favorite, as well," Vahe replied, "But I will caution you that it is incomplete. It works, but is not as expansive as the other worlds available. Not yet."

"That's okay, it looks awesome."

"It certainly was."

"Was?" Devan asked curiously.

"The place you are looking at was once the quarian home world," Vahe explained, "It is no longer. I have reconstructed it from what I could glean off of ancestor imprints and preserved data logs. It is…a work in progress."

With that, Vahe lead the human back to the entryway and reserved him a slot for the following week.

"Before you go, I have something I need you to take to C-Sec," the quarian said as he withdrew a disk from one of the many pockets on his skin-tight suit, "It needs to go to your Networks division."

"What is it?" Devan asked as he took it from the small man.

"Humans and your questions…Truth be told, I am not sure what it is, and that is why it scares me. A few days ago, I found a Keeper in the viewing room. Once it had removed itself, I found several strings of code in the computer system that I did not put there. I took at look at it, but it is like no program language known to me. I quarantined it and moved it to that disk. I could not discern it's purpose, but it has no place in my workings. The slightest alterations to my programming could make the experience dangerous for my users."

"Wow, that's really weird," the human said back, "I'll make sure it gets to them. Thanks."

The quarian shook his head as they exited the building together.

"No, thank you, Mr. Macalister. I find few who take such an interest in work outside of what it can do for them or how they could exploit it. I appreciate your visit and have enjoyed your company. Do take care; there are far more dangerous things in the Wards than a stray quarian and his computer games."

Devan laughed and gave a wave as he walked down the ramp to the busy street.

"Will do. See you next week!"

Once the officers had disappeared into the crowd, Vahe returned to Vertigo, and immediately descended the dark stairwell to his private rooms on the bottom level. He collapsed into the chair in front his computer then brought his hands to his head. With a few snaps to two side latches and a quick twist, he dislodged his helm from its airtight socket at his neck. He lifted it off and placed it carefully onto the desk in front of him, right next to a series of pills arranged from largest to smallest. There was also a single syringe.

The quarian sat quietly in the dark unmoving for several moments; observing the reflection in his visor. Gingerly, he picked up the first pill and closed his eyes. He put the capsule into his mouth and forced himself to swallow. He repeated this action many times before picking up the syringe of pale purple liquid that would allow him a pleasant sleep; a deep sleep. Too deep to dream.

He did that in his waking hours.

**End Vertigo**


	4. Spider, Part One

**Author's Notes:** Even though nobody reads Wards and it's the least popular of my stories, I love the quarians, and I think they don't get enough attention. So, here's part one of the next story about Vahe. I hope you enjoy. :)

**Spider - Part One**

"This is the place, right?" a human with a shaved head asked his partner as they approached one of the many businesses lining the busy lower-ward thoroughfare. Except for a few teal-tinted windows of odd geometric design, the airlock doors looked like all the rest the pair had passed so far in the district. If his companion hadn't specifically pointed it out, he would have never been able to find the place.

"Read the sign, doofus," the second man answered, giving his dull-witted partner a swat in the head and pointing to a neon sign above, complete with the arcade's name in foot-high letters.

"Shit, Mason! What was that for?!" the first exclaimed.

"For acting like a dumbass before we even get in there," Mason replied gruffly, "This job is too important to go through it half-asleep, you hear?"

"Oh, chill out would you? It's a damn quarian, and a half-blind one at that. You'd think we were walking into a krogan clan meeting with all your jumpiness."

"Have you ever met a quarian, Jack?"

"Well, no but-"

"Then shut up. You have no idea what those bastards are capable of," Mason warned as his eyes took on a distant cast, "But I do. _Dangerous_. This one especially. He's been around awhile - not one of those pilgrims fresh off the flotilla. He knows things and he won't fool easy; the minute he realizes we're inside, he'll know exactly what we're after. Gotta make it quick. He won't go down easy."

"Yeah, yeah…" Jack muttered as he scanned some readings on his omni-tool's orange interface.

"Hey!" Mason shouted as he grabbed his underling by the collar and pulled him close, "This ain't no smash and grab, hit and run or whatever other crap you're used to. You think Terra Firma would be paying such big bucks for small potatoes? This quarian has something they want, and we're gonna get it. You understand, asshole?"

"Okay, okay, I hear you. Follow your lead and don't do anything stupid…"

"Good," Mason grunted as he gave his companion a rough shove in the direction of the arcade's double-airlock doors, "Get 'em open. We've got ten minutes until the next C-Sec sweep."

Jack mouthed something derogatory behind his superior's back as he took a knee in front of the empty establishment. He popped the lid on the security panel and inserted two tiny wires from his omni-tool into the ports just under the control pad. From where he stood some distance away keeping lookout, Mason glanced upwards to the huge unlit sign mounted on the wall above the arcade's entrance. He loaded a fresh ammo clip into his Hahne-Kedar pistol and muttered to himself so his partner couldn't hear.

"Alright, quarian. You and I have a score to settle…"

.oO--Oo.

Vahe sat comfortably in this sublevel workshop, watching tiny orange sparks jump off the headset frame he was welding back together. It was one of two that he had lined up for repair on a long list of arcade maintenance duties including two software patches, wiring detail on consoles fifteen through twenty, and a thorough scrub down amongst other tedious things. As busy as Vertigo had become since he'd first established it, keeping up with his responsibilities was impossible without shutting the whole place down for a day - or two. The patrons weren't always as careful with the equipment as he would like. It was an attitude that would not have been tolerated on the flotilla, where all resources were as precious as gold, but he wasn't on the flotilla anymore. He hadn't been for nearly three years.

He swallowed a sigh and reminded himself that it had been his choice to leave. Instead of indulging in fond but futile memories of the past, he decided to focus on the task before him and enjoy his day of peace from the Citadel's citizens.

Like all his people, Vahe excelled in mechanical and engineering skills, but unlike most of them, it was a craft he had little use for anymore. No longer was he aboard a ramshackle ship that was older than he was. No longer did he dress in sub-standard gear or eat a diet consisting solely of a bland, mass-produced paste. He enjoyed the safety of the Citadel now, and had even managed to build himself a small arcade empire amongst the station's already bustling economy. Under his helm, his chapped, colorless lips curled into a faint smile. There was a certain satisfaction to be found in his mundane, managerial duties that he didn't recall experiencing when fusing together new hull plates or replacing CO2 scrubbers back in the Migrant Fleet. Just recently, he had managed to give a name to the new feeling: pride.

Many of the quarian elders would call such thoughts selfish, would claim that a quarian's greatest goal should be in service to the whole, but Vahe would call such thoughts dated, would call the elders scared. The fact was that the Migrant Fleet and its ideals were failing. Zero population growth and near total isolation had left his people in a state of social, economical, and philosophical stagnation that repulsed his spirit. The feeling had only gotten stronger when he was finally old enough to undergo his pilgrimage.

Never in his dreams would he have imagined the sights, the sounds and the people he had encountered on his journey. Every new planet, unknown life form, and display of what the other races called 'biotics' had been small miracles to him, but it was important to remember that not all of it had been wondrous. There was always the harsh reality of a quarian's biological restrictions to consider, along with the crime and violence that was almost unheard of within the flotilla's walls. Vahe himself had come face to face with the prejudice the elders had long warned of, had crossed paths with people who would do him ill for his heritage alone, but to him, these were minor details. Ones that were not unique to the quarians, and ones that would never be solved in their entirety. He did, however, believe that dispelling the many myths and misconceptions about his people would go a long way to mend the stand-offish relationship they had with the rest of the galaxy.

Vahe shook his head at his ponderings and pulled down his visor's vertical blinders as he upped the feed on the blowtorch's flame to finish up his work. The plates of dark glass slid down to settle perfectly over his eyes, shielding them from the bright light that his translucent, albino irises could not. The blinders were a custom modification originally designed by his father to aid in coping with his son's unusual condition, and it was one Vahe had expanded on as he grew into adulthood. With time, he had devised sophisticated biotic imbeds to cure his crippling near-sightedness, as well as infrared scanners to allow moving around in the dark. It was a bit ironic that one of the most commonly held myths about his people was the one that they were half-cybernetic, because in Vahe's case, it was almost true. Without the many mods built into his elaborate bio-suit, his independence would be almost, if not totally, impossible.

Finally satisfied with his work, Vahe shut-off his torch and inspected the headset's frame for any other weak points. There were none, so he doused the glowing-hot metal in a tub of water with a hiss then sat it to the side of his bench. He was about to begin on the second when an alarm on his omni-tool went off. He shut it off with a quick tap and scooted away from his work bench to stand. He turned his masked face to regard a large white spider in a glass case across the room.

"What say you, Bel'shava? Time for a quarian cocktail?" he asked.

The spider tapped two forelegs against the glass in response.

"Very well, then."

The quarian crossed the room and lifted the domed lid securing the eight-legged insect. He held his gloved hand out and grinned as the spider ran up the length of his arm. He had acquired the rare, Empress White Terris just before contracting the illness that brought him to the Citadel, and she was the only person from his previous life that he still had contact with. Though she did not make up for the friends and family he had left behind, she did bring him comfort, and he found the same satisfaction in caring for her that he did in caring for his arcade. As Bel'shava became comfortable atop his helmeted head, Vahe exited the small workroom and headed for his living quarters at the opposite end of the level.

It had been expensive to build the glass-incased clean room where he slept, bathed, and took the daily injections that had become necessary to prolong his life, but the small freedom of safely removing his suit made it all worth it. He stepped into the tiny decontamination chamber that connected it to the rest of the arcade, and initiated the cleansing cycle at the control panel inside. He could feel Bel'shava stir on his head, startled by the beams of light passing over them, but the process was over shortly and he stepped through to the other side.

Since the chamber was the place where Vahe was destined to the spend the rest of his life, he had made certain it was equipped with every necessity and comfort he would require. The result was a small, but well laid-out room housing a bed, a computer, a standing shower, a cooking cabinet, and several storage spaces. He went to one of these storage units and began removing several bottles which he placed on the desk by his computer. After that, he withdrew several syringes and began measuring out small amounts of liquid from each of the bottles before him. After this was done, he replaced the bottles and unpacked a clean needle for each. He sat in his desk chair and let Bel'shava scuttle down from her perch on his head before unlatching his helm and placing it to the side. He released the bindings holding his sleeves together and removed the glove covering his left hand. With a sigh, he rolled up his sleeve and shot each syringe into a purplish vein that stood out against his powder-white skin.

Vahe looked away as the liquid began to disappear into his body. Even after years of the treatment, he still couldn't stomach it some days. Instead, he focused on a picture in a digital frame on his desk. It was of a human woman in her late twenties, with close-cropped brown hair and cocky grin. A light smattering of freckles formed a bridge over her small nose, and a scar made a gouge in her right eyebrow. It was a face Vahe knew very well, and one that he would never forget. He had given his life for this woman, whether she realized it or not, and it was his sincerest hope that she was better off than he was. His mind began to drift with thoughts of where she was, and what she might be doing, but a sudden flash across his monitor drew his attention.

He removed the last of the now-empty syringes from his arm and leaned forward to inspect the warnings scrolling across the LCD screen. The pressure in the entry-lounge was off, which meant that the valve gauging the airflow was broken, or that the airlock at the entrance was ajar. Either way, it was a problem. Vahe resealed his suit and passed back out through the decontamination chamber to head for the stairwell leading to the upper floor. Unfamiliar voices echoed overhead as he mounted the first step. He froze and stepped back down, opting for the weapons locker further down the wall first. As he selected his favorite pistol, he eyed the white spider following after him.

"Well, Bel'shava," he said, "It would appear we have some visitors."

_To be continued..._


	5. Spider, Part Two

**Spider, Part Two**

As soon as the two had entered the arcade foyer, Mason took one last glance out of the airlock to make sure no one had seen them enter. Satisfied that their actions had gone unnoticed, he motioned for Jack to seal the doors behind them. While his partner worked, he glanced around the dimly-lit chamber for something heavy to block the door. After considering his options, he settled on the service desk. As he walked over and tested it for floor brackets, Jack withdrew his omni-tool wires from the airlocks control panel.

"What are you doing?" he asked in confusion.

Mason lifted the edge of the desk and returned it with a grunt before offering up a reply.

"The quarian can override any changes you manage to make in his security system," he explained, "He's a programming specialist. Who do you think wrote the software for this arcade? Come on, help me move this. I don't want to go through all this trouble only to have him make it out the front door…"

"As opposed to the backdoor?" Jack joked.

"Shutup and get over here! Idiot…"

Jack made a sour face but did as he was told.

"Maybe the quarian can outsmart us," Mason mused in a low whisper as the two transported the heavy article, "But he sure as hell can't out-muscle us."

After some shuffling, they managed to settle the desk on the floor in front of the exit with barely a sound before turning back to survey the arcades spacious interior. Three shafts branched out from the central room, each lit with narrow neon lights along the floor like a runway. They echoed away into blackness, with nothing but the electric hum and blinking buttons of wall-mounted control panels to interrupt the shadows. The ventilated air was cold and tinged with the chemical bitterness of numerous disinfectants. Even the impressive nine monitor display in the lounge was blank and lifeless.

Vertigo was sleeping.

Mason sniffed in satisfaction before pulling a comm device and two lighted scopes out of a pack on his waist. He handed one scope and the comm device to his partner.

"Now listen," he instructed, "This place is a lot bigger than it looks from the street, so we're gonna need to split up. You take the left corridor and I'll take the right. According to the Citadel zoning maps, they meet up at the far end so we can come back up the center hallway together. If the quarian isn't up here, that means he's on the sublevel, and I don't want to go down unless we absolutely have to."

"How are you so certain he's even here?" Jack asked as he attached his scope and gestured around the empty place with his pistol, "The only power on is auxiliary."

"Quarian habit," Mason explained as he checked some readings on his omni-tool, "They're about conservation. They don't use more than they need, so if the arcade isn't open to the public, there's no reason to have on the main generator. It's just a waste of energy. Besides, he's too crippled to get far by himself, and Citadel folk aren't fond of his type to begin with. Where else is he gonna go?"

"Alright, alright. Place just looks dead to me, that's all I'm saying…"

"Well, _quit_ saying it. The more noise you make the more likely you are to get his attention. Keep your comm on channel three and don't use it unless you find something. You've got fifteen minutes to meet me around back. Get going."

Jack shook his head as Mason disappeared down the right wing of the arcade. He watched until he could no longer see the light from the mans scope before sharing a piece of his mind with the gloomy lounge. "Asshole."

He activated his own omni-tool and set a timer for fifteen minutes. According to the maps he'd been given to study before taking the job, each wing had thirty player terminals and one server room that would need to be sweeped. In addition, there was one group room and the central control chamber. That meant they would have to check ninety-five different rooms, not including the sublevel, and the quarian could be hiding in any one of them. The human wondered if agreeing to the job had been the right decision as he turned on his scope light.

"Nothing else for it now," he sighed. He turned his pistol towards the left corridor to cut through the dark and made his way towards the first single-player terminal.

.oO-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Oo.

Mason tried to loosen up as he stalked down the desolate hallways. He hated working with amateurs; they always made him nervous. Unlike his moronic assistant, he knew from experience that the quarians were unlike other targets. They were nimble in both body and mind; what they lacked in strength and constitution they made up for in speedy reflexes and deadly cunning. Underestimating the masked outsiders simply wasn't an option. They didn't survive an AI uprising and three hundred years of ship-bound solitude to be picked off one-by-one by common street hustlers. Their lives were the only things of value the quarians had left, and they wouldn't give them up easily.

Especially not _this_ quarian…

The human scowled and gripped his trigger tighter as he swung around an airlock into yet another empty player terminal. He cursed to himself when he realized his only prize was an empty VR chair and a dead computer screen. Not even the computer towers power button flickered to mock him for his failure. It was as if his efforts didn't matter. He slammed his fist into the airlocks doorframe and turned angrily to continue his search. As he did so, a faint, mechanical ticking crept into his ears. He froze.

Without moving his head, he glanced around and noticed a tiny red light on the ceiling further down the corridor. He raised his scope light to reveal a plexi-glass half-globe housing a tiny -active- security camera. A quick shot from his pistol put it out of business.

"I know you're here, Vahe!" he bellowed into the seemingly empty air, "You're not gonna get away this time!"

A flash went up behind him and he instantly brought his hands to the back of his head. Quarian charge mines were some of the most sophisticated targeting explosives in the galaxy, and every member of the Migrant Fleet was trained in their use. Once he realized nothing had happened, he opened his eyes and carefully turned to investigate the new light source.

The computer screen that had been dull only moments before was now roaming with static. The electric snow made eerie, inky forms dance along the bare metal walls. Mason threw his spotlight around the room anxiously as he slowly crept forward. When he'd made it to the VR chairs railing, the screen went black again, but this time it was an active black, not the blank slate of an inoperable device. A white cursor appeared and pulsed with a patient rhythm before rolling out a line of quickly typed text.

_Greetings Mr. Nichols_

"Vahe'Kesh vas Zindura…" Mason hissed, "Are you ready to die quarian?"

_I've been ready for a long time...  
_

"Oh, save it quarian. It's your own damn fault you're a plague-bearing pariah. If you hadn't gotten mixed up with Blair back on Edolus, then _neither_ of us would be in this predicament now would we?"

_Blair is not here. If you have come hoping to find her, you have come a long way for nothing._

"But you know where she is…don't you? I'm betting you do. You see, I would have gone looking for her first, but people tend to notice freaks like you a lot more than worthless addicts like Blair. Figured you'd be easier to catch up with, and I was right."

Mason made a show of glancing around the room.

"You've been busy here, Vahe. I bet your friends back on the flotilla would be jealous. Bet your mom is real proud of her only exiled son."

_My mother is dead._

"Heh. Well, you haven't changed. Matter-of-fact as always. Don't worry…I'll put you out of your misery soon enough."

Mason shot out the monitor and reached for his comm device as minute shards of glass littered the floor. Sparks jumped behind the broken panel erratically as the human barked to his partner.

"Listen up Jack, Vahe's in one of the server control rooms. Head to the one on your end but be careful. Don't enter until I tell you to, I want to make sure he's not on my side first."

.oO-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Oo.

"Copy that," Jack replied absently as he continued to stare at the odd video feed he'd encountered in his most recent room.

While most of the terminals had been vacant and identical, this one appeared as if it had been in recent use. A pair of three-fingered VR gloves rested atop the computer tower, and the screen was looping a time-stop video of what appeared to be fungus in various stages of growth. The human had become momentarily mesmerized by the jerky, surreal animation of sprouts shooting out of a dead log and ballooning up into the fanciful parasol mushrooms seen only in deep forests. Watching new life creep so quickly over the old made his stomach turn on a primal level.

"Hey, Mason," he radioed, "What'd you say this guy does here?"

No response.

A soft slithering sound from outside the room made Jacks head turn sharply. Maybe Mason had the quarian cornered and couldn't answer. The human took one last look at the strange video stream before crouching into a defensive position and backing slowly out the door. Back in the corridor, he headed for the server room. If his memory of the maps served him, it would be at the end of the hall on the left. As he approached it warily, he kept his ears sharpened for anymore unusual sounds. After traveling along with nothing but the background noise of electric static to keep him company, he began to wonder if the relative silence was a good thing or a bad thing.

Maybe Mason hadn't found the quarian - maybe the quarian had found _him_.

Jack was about to pick up speed to the server room when he felt something move across the top of his right foot. He let out a surprised yelp and backpedaled right into a wall. The impact made him drop his pistol and bang his head roughly. As the firearm clattered to the ground, he groaned and rubbed his head. Suddenly aware of his rapid heartbeat, he stayed against the wall defensively and tried to catch his breath. Once he was sure he wasn't going to start hyperventilating, he lifted his head and looked in the direction of the discarded weapons scope light. It landed pointing behind him, towards the lounge he and Mason had started in. He paused once more to check for noise before walking over to pick it up. As he reached out for it, something small and white shot across the narrow field of light.

He instantly drew back, but managed to keep his mouth closed. Unless quarians could see in the dark, the only thing giving him away would be the noise he made. Bolstering his courage, he reached out again and grabbed hold of the weapon. He snatched it back greedily and immediately began darting it around. To his surprise, his search revealed a lone white spider struggling to make it up the smooth side of the wall. Jack relaxed thankfully.

"You're not a quarian," he huffed with nervous exhalation, "Just a damn spider."

He kept the light trained on the unusually large insect as he moved closer for a better look.

"You're a big sucker aren't you? How'd you get onto the Citadel, anyway?"

He squatted and reached out with the muzzle of his pistol to nudge it a bit. The spider hissed and jumped at him in response, causing him to fall over backward. Jack flustered and got back to his feet.

"What the fuck was that for?" he snapped at it. He took a step forward and raised his foot to squash the offending animal, but was suddenly distracted by the muted slithering sound again.

Jack whirled around and come face to face with a black figure outlined faintly by the neon green lights along the floor. Before he could holler a warning, the figures right arm shot out and three strands of cable came hurtling towards his face. The last thing he saw were the tiny prongs that latched mercilessly into his skin and sent a thousand jolts of lightening racing through his veins.


	6. Spider, Part Three

**Author's Notes - **Okay, maybe Spider will be four parts...haha. This chapter got a bit longer than I was expecting. I'll either write the rest as a fourth chapter, or go back and rearrange the existing texts a bit since the first two chapters are a bit on the short side. Either way, I hope you enjoy your update. :) For those that are curious, another One Eye chapter is in the works and will update again soon. Thanks for reading!

**Spider- Part Three**

Mason had almost reached his hallways server room when Jack's cry of pain echoed out of the dark and crept into his tense ears like a phantom. He broke into a run, passing the server room and rounding the corner into a small plaza in time to see the last few flickers of a dying electrical light down the opposing corridor. He cursed and blinked away a bead of sweat that had fallen from his hairline into his wide eyes. It stung like venom and recalled memories of his first encounter with Vertigos elusive host. He forced the thoughts aside and focused. Fingering his trigger, he risked a glance down the once again darkened hallway. Only a retreating trail of faint green track lights revealed themselves.

He hugged the wall and continued further down until he encountered an open airlock. The terminal inside was on and his partner's discarded comm device sat in the entry like a warning. Mason pivoted on his feet as he entered the room, swinging around to keep his eye on the door. The quarian had been here, and he might not be far. Once it was apparent nothing was going to sneak up and trap him inside the small chamber, he bent and retrieved the purposefully laid radio. He dropped it to the floor again almost instantly - the comm was burning hot. Mason's eyes narrowed in pain and anger as a red welt rose on his right hand. Struggling to stay alert, he reached out with his pistol to flip the item over. Just as he suspected, an acrid odor wafted into his nostrils from a visibly fried motherboard.

"It'll take a lot more than that to scare me, quarian," he muttered as he rose to his feet and abandoned the broken device where it laid.

"Are you there Vahe?!" he bellowed caustically to the empty air, "You think knocking off Jack is supposed to frighten me? He's an amateur! A street punk! But I know all about you and your kind. You're a plague to this galaxy! You and those monsters you created!"

Mason waited anxiously for a reaction that didn't come.

"Answer me!"

Silence.

.oO-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Oo.

Jack awoke to darkness and a blanket of cool air. His skin tingled with a multitude of minute sensations, and the fuzzy feel of static clung to his clothes and hair. All of his body felt at once stiff and invigorated, like the pins-and-needles numbness of restored circulation to a sleeping limb. As he tried to stretch his restless muscles, shockwaves assaulted his senses. Despite his predicament, he couldn't help releasing a disoriented moan. A soft, musical voice answered his own from somewhere in the shadows.

"It is uncomfortable for you now, but you will recover."

The human paused and tried to gather his fleeting thoughts. He could feel the cold surface of the floor against his cheek, and a slight draft that wasn't present on the level where he and his partner had entered - the quarian had dragged him to the sublevel.

"You're Vahe?" he asked finally.

The slithering sound he'd heard just before being attacked accompanied a lithe form as it exited a darkened doorway in front of him. As the shadows fell away, they revealed a short, lean being in an elaborate black hazard suit. Several small tools, plugs and power outlets studded his body like gems, and the sleek shine of his form gave him a slightly insectoid appearance. A faceless mask of emerald obscured the quarian's more intimate features, and a thin cloak of cables trailed behind him like rent cobwebs. Their dragging upon the ground was the source of the unusual sound from above.

"I am," the figure said as a spider crept out from behind him and edged towards Jack's face, "And I believe you have already met Bel'shava."

The creature scuttled up to the human and hissed indignantly. Jack jerked back in fear as it waved its forelegs at him with disapproving scorn.

"She is not poisonous," Vahe told him as he strode forward and carefully scooped up the White Terris, "In fact, her kind are considered very valuable for their silk. It contains compounds used in medicine to aid in coagulation of the blood."

"Rather odd pet for a quarian," Jack muttered nervously.

"And what would you know about quarians?" Vahe shot back quickly.

The human swallowed at the irritated edge that crept into his captor's voice. The effects of his electrocution were wearing off, and the reality of his situation was setting in.

"What are you going to do with me?" he asked, "How'd you get me down here, anyway? You're supposed to be-"

"Crippled?" the quarian offered smartly, "Perhaps that is how a human would see it. I prefer to think of myself as…redirected. I can do the same work now that I could before my illness, and knowing my passing is not so far away is great motivation to accomplish it faster."

"You're still not strong enough to drag me down here on your own."

"In that you are correct," Vahe said vaguely as he lifted a frail hand and gestured to something at Jack's back,

The human groaned with the effort, but managed to flip him self over enough to examine the rest of the room. His face morphed in fear as his eyes traced the smooth edges of an inorganic and familiar form. Standing quietly near a power outlet like a nightmarish marionette, was a six foot geth.

"Are you crazy?!" Jack demanded, "That's a -a…"

"A geth," the masked man agreed, "The shell of one at least - a prototype XI model. I had to go to considerable lengths to acquire it."

He strode forward and stood before it with his hands clasped behind his back like a critic in an art gallery. The impressive machine stood a good two feet taller than its keeper.

"You're shitting me," the human quaked at the quarian's unnerved explanation, "Haven't you people learned your lesson? Those things are killers!"

"This…is merely a tool," Vahe assured him, "It has no life of its own. I operate it with a pair of gloves using the same neuro-reponse technology that allows the level of interaction seen in my sims."

"Is that what Mason dragged us here for? For a machine?!"

"No," the quarian said with a ponderous tilt of his head, "Mr. Nichols would have no way of knowing Vertigo's true purpose. Even C-Sec's suspicions are hesitant and misplaced."

"Vertigo's true purpose? What the hell does that mean? This place is an arcade!"

"In part perhaps. This place is more than a gateway to dreams, though that is the simplest way to describe it. It is an information database, a living will, and a way for me to gather the research necessary to access the subconscious of not only organic beings, but inorganics as well."

"It is my hope that before I die, I will find a way to interface man and machine even further. If I can translate from organics to computers, then I should be able to reverse the stream. Perhaps even combine the two, and find a way to leave this poisoned, 'crippled' body behind."

Jack stilled on the floor and his mouth went dry as he considered the quarian's words. He was dealing with a mad man.

"You're trying to tell me that you want to somehow transfer your consciousness to that - that thing?" he exclaimed with distaste, "You're crazy! Mason's crazy! I never should have agreed to come here!"

"That is very true," Vahe agreed as he let Bel'shava climb up his leg and over his faceplate, "You _shouldn't_ have come here. Mr. Nichols is not here looking for machines or sophisticated quarian technology. He is here looking for the young woman who stole and crashed his million-dollar starship. The same one whose unconscious body I pulled from burning wreckage on Edolus. The same one who gave me my infection."

"He…what?" Jack said in surprise at the quarian's revelation, "He told me Terra Firma was after you - said that they'd pay well to have whatever it is you're hiding."

The quarian sighed and walked forward to crouch in front of the prostrate human. As he came near, Jack could see the faint shadows of fine features through his thick faceplate.

"Why would an organization like Terra Firma waste resources going after someone as insignificant to the galaxy as myself?" Vahe reasoned, "Why would they send a meager team of two people? How could I have possibly interfered with their work when I have never even visited a human colonized planet?"

"I am sorry, mister…whoever you are, but you have been conned into a worthless venture by an even pettier man. Mason Nichols has come far with nothing to gain but mindless vengeance, and now you will _both_ leave in handcuffs."

Jack's eyebrows knit as he processed the information. Something about the quarian's frank manner made him believe the scenario. He'd been duped into getting involved in a petty feud that held no profit. Mason probably never intended to keep him around after the quarian job in the first place. The man would have tossed him out on his ass without anything to show for his efforts. He began to laugh hysterically at his hopeless situation. At least he knew he had nothing to lose now.

"So, when Mason comes through that airlock he won't bother to help me at all," Jack mumbled darkly, "He'll just drag you off or kill you if he doesn't get what he wants and leave me here to be hauled off by the cops."

"I am sure that is his intention," Vahe agreed, "Unfortunately for him, I don't see things unfolding in quite the same manner…"

Jack let his muscles go slack and laid slumped on the floor in defeat. He didn't care about the outcome anymore. "How are you gonna draw him down here without going back up there?"

The quarian unlatched a small device from his complicated suit. It was Jack's omni-tool. Vahe's ivory lips turned up under his helm as he held it aloft for the human to see. "That is what this is for…"

.oO-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Oo.

The omni-tools alarm was like a beacon in the dark for Mason Nichols, and unfortunately, it was guiding him to the last place he wanted to be: Vertigos sublevel. He knew it in his gut before he even encountered the stairwell that descended further into the quarian's domain. There was no telling what the alien outsider could have rigged up down there where his patrons' eyes couldn't see, where C-Sec couldn't follow. Venturing into the arcades lower sector would be like walking into a spider web - sealing your fate in an obvious trap.

It appeared that Vahe was counting on his emotions to override his better judgment, and as much as he hated to admit, the quarian was right. Blair's destruction of his single greatest commodity had ruined him, and made him the laughing stock of his of peers besides. Even if what the quarian said was true, and she wasn't somewhere on the Citadel, he could always take out his aggression on the savior who aided in her escape. How lucky he was that the clever little man had found a way to forestall the disease that ravaged his defenseless body; it meant he could take his time torturing him. The thought made Mason grin sadistically. He would love nothing more than to rip the visor off the quarian's face and find out what was hidden underneath…

He tapped his omni-tool and tried it for readings of the area below. The scanner was picking up two significant power signatures which meant no jammers were installed. Of course, that didn't mean the quarian wouldn't be waiting for him with a tech mine, but it did mean he wasn't walking into a dead zone right off the bat. Given the mass-relay design of his pistol, that was a lot to be thankful for.

He was relieved to see that only one of the two blips was roaming on his radar, and both were positioned some distance inside the sublevel. He hoped that meant he wouldn't find an ambush waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs; the more room he had to work with the better. He glanced up from his omni-tool and swept the stairwell with his scope. It was empty and there were no signs of a security system, so he cautiously mounted the upper-most stair. As he proceeded downward, the air seemed to get colder and loaded with electric ozone. It made the hair on his neck standup, and his skin tingle with anticipation.

By the time he made it to the narrow chamber below, the alarm had become so loud that it made him wince. The high-pitched pulse bounced off the bare metal walls mercilessly, and it drilled painfully into Mason's head. He tried to creep deeper into the room, but the noise that assaulted him made continuing unbearable. Just when he thought he might go mad, the sound promptly ceased. He threw his head back and sighed in relief as he waited for the spinning world to clear. When the double-vision realigned, he noted a single white light in the distance.

"Is that you Vahe?!" he called, "Come on out, coward, and we'll settle this!"

The light bobbed in the dark, moving forward slowly and bringing an unusual scraping sound with it. When the form finally coalesced, the human shrank back in dread. Face frozen in fear, Mason shot off several rounds at the advancing geth. Great bursts of light blinded him as the projectiles ricocheted harmlessly off the machine's invisible kinetic barrier and sank into the flesh of his chest and shoulder. Before he even realized the foolishness of his mistake, he'd dropped his pistol and sunk to the floor in pain. He wrapped his arms around his middle and felt the sticky warmth of blood run between his fingers. His mouth froze in a wordless scream as the geth took him by his throat and lifted him off the ground. He pawed at the steel grip around his neck even as his feet kicked the empty air below. It wasn't until the geth spoke in a familiar voice that he stopped struggling and listened.

"What was that you were saying about out muscling me, Mr. Nichols?"


End file.
